


Anyway, Here's WonderWall

by SexyGayOrc, ZandakarShibleski (SpaceSexual)



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Super Tasteless, Wonderwall, some tasteless jokes about death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:41:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1799170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SexyGayOrc/pseuds/SexyGayOrc, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceSexual/pseuds/ZandakarShibleski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Simon realizes the meeting of the ULF is looking a bit grim and intends to liven the place up after generous Sheep Brain consumption.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anyway, Here's WonderWall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SexyGayOrc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SexyGayOrc/gifts).



> This is not meant to be taken seriously. This is an in depth extrapolation of an idea my friend and I shared while she introduced me to In the Flesh, along with our burning unasked questions with unsaid answers.

          The room used shabby chic in the hipster sort of way with a style that really knocked you dead, except everyone in the room was already previously dead so it’s design at the present was not the forefront of everyone's worries. What was however, were that the words of the Undead Prophet was being dictated to them from the tiny TV hastily set up in the main room and everyone's eyes were glued… that is until the Twelfth Disciple strode in with a loaded six-string.

                    “Everyone,” Simon addressed the room, “everyone. I feel this party is a little dead.” He declared, stepping around feet and limbs and flicking the TV off with a switch. “I've come to liven’ up the place a bit.” He continued in his Irish lilt and lifting the guitar from his back.

          The room continued it’s deathly silence, no one really understanding the Twelfth Disciples decision or reasoning's, but no one really questioning and everyone knowing exactly what happened to the last of the sheep's brain. Simon graced the couch with his Irish ass and pulled the guitar across his lap, coaxing from it a few discordant chords that more or less exactly, failed to please anyone.

        Without much ado, Simon mumbled out a few psuedo-modest claims of not really being able to play or being a bit rusty from the partially deceased situation, but no one really cared. They were mainly paying attention to him so he’d leave faster.

        Thus prepared, Simon began to slur out a few words to a song and play basic chords that no one had ever heard or if they had, understood. Eventually he swept up the tempo into a lively rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody which eventually got even the most sullen of the deceased to crack a grin or hum along, and, gauging audience reaction he continued along that path of hits like “In my Time of Dying” by Led Zepplin and other such themed songs that some found offensive but no less relevant to current situations and making everyone remember a time before the whole death thing that kinda had some people down for a bit or whatever.

         When Simon finished what he perceived to be a really sick riff off his guitar but which again, more or less exactly failed to please anyone in attendance, he chanced a gaze up at his semi-captivated audience, some of whom just stared listlessly at the peeling wallpaper contemplating cutting their ears off just to see what happened, while a select few were thinking about babies that had turned, or if they had lost a leg before death if during the RIsing they’d have some mad carpet burns by now, or if they could get boners or not, but all had eventually noticed the silence Simon left around. Soon he had their attention again.

The time had come.

This was his moment.

His Shining Moment.

He was the Twelfth Disciple, and it is his job to teach them the words of what he believed to be self-evident and true and RIGHT.

The time was nigh.

                    “So… yeah,” Simon said a little raspy from his mad Steven Tyler impressions, “Unn…. anyway…. here’s Wonderwall.”

         And he began to play, and they, began to think. About the mad carpet burns because seriously if Rick had a missing leg during the rising was he just crawling everywhere, because if so, his nipples are fuckign gone. Like so gone. Just… shredded. Also, like what art school gave Kieran a scholarship? Like holy shit I may not be an artist but I’m definitely a goddamn critic and his art? I mean, some of the pencil drawings are okay at best but the paintings? Were those of dead people or are they supposed to be his family because damn. I’d go to war too if my boyfriend made shit like that.


End file.
